The King is Dead, All Hail the King
by General Trash
Summary: Oryx was killed, by a single guardian no less. Channeling the Sword-Logic, they brought him low despite the very world they were in working against them. The Sword-Logic would then try to make the Guardian the new God-King of the Hive, but they would cut their connection to it before that could occur. At least, that's what usually happens.
1. Chapter 1

The Vanguard were currently meeting around a table, discussing current events, where to allocate resources, and what to do if the guardian they sent doesn't make it back. Zavala's face was set into a grimace as he poured over reports, looming over them. Ikora was leaning back against a wall, contemplating something. Damned Warlocks and their contemplating. Cayde, meanwhile, was sat on a chair with his feet kicked up on the table, while gently stroking Colonel, his chicken.

Zavala palmed his face and straightened his back, turning to address Cayde. "Cayde, this is serious! We cannot be certain that the Guardian we sent will be successful on their mission."

Cayde raised a not-brow. "Can't we? They already took Oryx down once. How hard can the second time be?"

Ikora raised a brow in return. "Cayde, you do realize that Oryx would be much stronger within his Throne World, don't you?" She walked over to the table and took a seat. "The odds are _not_ in their favor, Cayde."

Cayde scoffed. "Yeah, well, folding isn't an option, never was." Cayde stopped stroking Colonel and raised both of his hands. "Way I see it, there are two things that can happen." Cayde pointedly looks at his left hand. "My greatest success story gives Oryx a taste of his own murderous medicine, _or_ -" Cayde looks at his right hand. "-they fail, get brutally murdered, and we get stuck in a war that even if we win, will ruin us." Cayde goes back to petting Colonel. "No point in getting stressed over it."

Zavala's eyes widened incredulously "No point getting stressed? Cayde, this is a matter of life or death! If we plan for that possibility, we may still be able to win, and have it not be a pyrrhic victory!"

Before Cayde could respond, the intercom burst to life.

"Commander Zavala!" A panicked voice yelled. "The Dreadnaught has just appeared in orbit over the City!"

Cayde fell out of his chair, Colonel squawking all the way down, Ikora shot out of her chair in shock, and Zavala froze for a moment, before responding.

"What are the casualties!" Zavala was in overdrive. The Guardian had failed, and it seems Oryx has taken exception to the attempt on his life and has come to kill them in one fell swoop.

"None, sir!" That stopped Zavala short. "It's not attacking, in fact, it's sending a request for us to open our comms!"

Cayde, from his position on the ground, spoke up, raising his head. "What are you waiting for then! Opening those comms may be the last thing between us and a slow, horrific, and incredibly painful death!"

"Yes sir!" And it cut off. Cayde groaned, and let his head fall to the ground

Ikora slightly calmer now, turned to address Cayde. "I thought there was no point getting stressed."

Cayde groaned again, louder. "Just because I don't fear death doesn't mean I particularly want to die." He paused to pet Colonel a bit. "And that this will also kill everyone here if we screw it up. I think now is about the time to start getting stressed."

Before the conversation could continue, they were interrupted. Again. This time, coming from the Dreadnaught.

"Hello? Is this thing on?" A very familiar voice began. "I'm just going to assume that it is." The voice was that of the Ghost of the guardian that they sent. "Well, I should probably explain what's going on."

"That… That would be a good place to start." Zavala said, clearly very lost.

"Oh, so this thing _is_ on. If only I knew how it worked…" Ghost said, mumbling. "Anyways, I am glad to report that Oryx is dead, killed by my Guardian's hand." The ghost said, a bragging note to their voice.

"That's great!" Cayde replied. "But that does _not_ explain why the Dreadnaught is hovering over the City!"

"Well, about that…" Despite there being no video, the Vanguard could practically see the Ghost nervously looking from side to side. "My Guardian used the Sword-Logic in order to kill Oryx." Before the Vanguard could respond, the Ghost continued. "And well, they weren't able to cut off their connection to it fast enough, so they uh…" The Ghost trailed off, and while Zavala and Cayde were still confused, realization dawned on Ikora. "They kind of slightly became the King of the Hive."

Zavala did not respond. In fact, it looked like you could stab Zavala right now and he would not respond. Ikora just held her head in her hands, entirely done with everything. Cayde started laughing.

"Wow, that's a great joke! Haha, you sure got me!" He laughed a bit more. "… Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm afraid that I'm not." The Ghost said, sounding resigned.

Cayde's gaze went empty, before refocusing. "At least we're still alive." Cayde shrugged. "Well!" Cayde stood up. "I'm going to go try to get myself drunk. Let's go, Colonel." With that, Cayde left, and Colonel followed him with a squawk.

Zavala snapped out of his stupor. "Can we talk to them?" He asked, deliberately calm.

"Nope." Ghost said, popping the P. "They're a bit busy dealing with the court, and something called an Ahamkara? And all the Taken. They've got _a lot_ on their plate."

"I… see." Zavala did not, in fact, see, but he didn't really have many other choices but to accept that this was happening now. "I'm going to go explain what is happening to the rest of the Guardians." He paused. "And the Speaker too. He needs to know about this." Zavala then stood up and left.

Ikora pinched the bridge of her nose. "You aren't interrupting the Moon's orbit, yes?"

"No, we're not."

"Good. I'm going too." Ikora stood up and left.

Ghost kept the comms open for a bit longer, and then closed them. Letting out a sight of relief, he began talking.

"Thank the Traveler that went well." His shell spun around. "I just hope that rest of this will go even half as well." He said, turning to face the Guardian, who nodded in return. Between the Riven of a thousand voices, Oryx's sisters, the Taken, the Deep, the Ascendant Hive, and the rest of the Hive, they had their work cut out for them. The Guardian sighed. Things are going to get much weirder from here on out, they just knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

Ylsh'Ryx, or Deceitful Thought once translated from the Hive's language, a Hive on the verge of ascending, was having a confusing day. See, not too long ago he was just one of many Wizards operating out of the Hellmouth, when quite suddenly a command stabbed itself into his brain, ordering him to cease attacking those damnable Light-Bearers on pain of death. Some of the duller Hive, the Thralls and weaker Acolytes simply stopped where they were stood and were promptly massacred by the Light-Bearers. Meanwhile, the sharper members, and some of the duller ones who figured to copy their betters, bade a hasty retreat.

Now, one might wonder, would not the Worm within Ylsh force him to fight?

Under normal circumstances, the answer would be no, since self-preservation is, in fact, an aspect of the Sword-Logic, but these are not normal circumstances. The answer is still no, however. Whatever issued that order was greater than Crota. Greater than Oryx. And when something that eclipses your god tells you to do something, you do it, even if the order is totally nonsensical.

Besides, it said nothing of killing those insects, the Fallen. Or Eliksni, whatever they're called. Ylsh does not care very much for them, beyond that one Dreg he saw skulking the halls of the Hellmouth. Spooking the pathetic creature made for a good laugh. Ylsh briefly wonders if it's still alive, before discarding the thought. He has more important things to attend to. Namely, to discuss what the hell the Hive on the moon is meant to do next, besides slaughtering more Fallen. That's something of a given, seeing as they die if they don't feed their Worm enough, and murder is a simple way to feed the thing. Ylsh sighed as he floated through the winding halls. Things would be so much simpler if he wasn't permanently on a timer.

Alas, now was not the time for moping. Now was the time for proving. Ylsh took a turn into a room, which held an assortment of Hive on his level. He took a moment to sharpen his thoughts, and mentally assured his Worm that it would feast despite the sudden change in plans. After all, the Sword-Logic cares not how you prove yourself superior, and a court is a battleground just as brutal as a warzone. Ylsh'Ryx smiled a wide and wicked smile. He always did favor talking.

"Look who finally arrived!" Said a Knight, who was laughing uproariously. Xyn, The Axe Bearer, called that for having an axe rather than a sword. Weirdo. "We may finally start this meeting between those on the very edge of godhood! Any reason for your lateness, Ylsh?"

"I was simply far from this locale." That was only partially a lie. The other reason he was late was because of the splitting headache that resulted from the command that caused this meeting. "Might we get on with this meeting of almost-divines and nearly-gods?"

There was a general sense of agreement throughout the room, and nobody had any reason to slow down this impromptu court any more than it already was.

"Yes, let us begin!" Xyn said, manifesting a chair for herself to sit on. "We must start with the most important of news, straight from the Dreadnaught, straight the King's own court!" Now that was interesting, Ylsh thought. It seems Xyn was more than just some weirdo with an axe rather than a cleaver. She was a well-connected weirdo with an axe rather than a cleaver. "The King is dead."

Silence. How else were they meant to respond? Somebody just told them their god is dead. All eyes turned to Ylsh, for they knew his Sword-Logic focused on the social arena. Focusing his mind and magic, Ylsh focused his Killing-Logic to _cut_ away at any lies in that statement. Nothing. Well, he could catch her on the technicality that whoever killed the King would doubtlessly be the new King, thusly the King is alive, but that currently serves no purpose.

"She's telling the truth. Oryx is dead. The Taken King, First Navigator, Prophet of the Deep, Worm-slayer, and many, _many_ other titles, is dead." Silence, again. Ylsh cast his gaze across the room and continued. "But, my fellow godlings, this spells opportunity for us." Silence, again, for a third time now, but beckoning this time. "There is doubtlessly a new King, and whoever killed Oryx equally without doubt cut a bloody swathe through his court. In other words, empty thrones and empty mantles, waiting for someone to claim them. Those someones could be us." There was a general hum of agreement, and Ylsh could feel his Sword-Logic swell with might at his success. He could also feel Xyn's eyes staring at the back of his head. It is most probable that this is the conclusion she wanted them to come to, and Ylsh is fine with that. She may feed on his success too.

"Ah, but we cannot be the only ones to think of this." Said another knight, who had no sword, just a very impressive looking shield, with a wicked edge. Zivaran, Bulwark of Tumultuous Seas. Also a weirdo. "None of us are ascendant. We would be at a grand disadvantage against any other aspirants. Be it the remaining ascended of the Blood of Oryx who will try, the ascended from the Will of Savathûn who will try, Xivu Arath's Rage and it's ascended who will try, Crota's Spawn who will try, and countless others who will try." He looked around the room. "There are five of us here, each sectless. We are not ascended, and we have no backing."

Xyn spoke up. "What have we to lose? State one thing we may lose beside our lives!" No answer. "What do we stand to gain?"

An odd cross between Knight and Wizard spoke up. "Everything." This was Niact, The Spell Blade. "Godhood. Power. Prestige. Everything we could hope for, and only our lives on the line."

Another spoke up, something that looked a lot like an Ogre, but smaller, closer to the profile of a Knight, yet still much larger. Uragrag, The Clever Giant. "Only our lives, yes." It chuckled deeply. "Something to be spent cheaply, in your eyes?"

Niact shrugged. "I did not get where I am by being cautious or heeding warnings. I would assume an Ogre who broke free from their innate idiocy would know the value of taking risks."

Uragrag snorted in amusement. "I will not be baited so easily by someone who couldn't make up their mind and called the result a choice."

Niact's eyes twitched. However, before he could retort, Ylsh interrupted.

"There's no need to be so uncivil, my _friends._ " He said. "Besides, we have no choice but to do this." Uragrag and Zivaran stared at him in askance. "We cannot fight the Light-Bearers. The Fallen will eventually retreat from the moon, and the only arena left to us would be the social one, lest we abandon the moon." Uragrag scratched his chin, seeing his point. Zivalan was yet unconvinced. "And is that how you want to die? Damned by the orders of a foolish and naïve King?" All shook their heads. "I thought not. Our only true option is to make our way to the Dreadnaught, and make our bid for ascension." He turned to Xyn. "And I believe one of us has a plan already."

Xyn smiled. "I am glad you asked, Ylsh! Now then…"


End file.
